Unlikely Hunters
by Lucillia
Summary: A series of oneshots in which some rather unlikely Hunters ply their trade. Multiple crossovers.
1. Sand and Salt

Every race had their own methods for dealing with these sorts of problems. "Hunting" as the humans called it was every bit as messy and violent as the humans themselves. Because the methods that had worked so well on his world were surprisingly ineffective here, he was forced to use the methods the humans had honed over millenia of practice.

Barely suppressing a sigh, he loaded his shotgun with rock salt cartridges before putting in a set of earplugs and offering a pair to his wife who had just finished loading her own weapon. His marriage to his wife was almost as unconventional as his life's calling. Both were frowned upon at home. It had been the strong disapproval over his marriage that had driven him to continue following his calling which had been his father's sibling's calling and his forefather's calling as well on another world.

He had met his wife when he had rescued her from a sand spirit when they were teenagers. They had soon fallen in love though it was not the way of their people to admit to such things. Unfortunately, she was bonded to another and therefore not free to chose. Despite this, they had grown very close over the years, and over the years his wife had tried to get out of her bonding. Unfortunately, neither her father nor the father of her bondmate would budge on their positions regarding her future spouse. When the day of the marriage was finally at hand, they had made one final, desperate, and rather foolhardy choice. And to think, if they had just contacted her bondmate directly beforehand and explained their position he would have quite happily released her without all of the damage her and consequently his reputations had suffered as he wasn't too fond of her himself. As the humans say, "hindsight is 20/20".

As he and his wife approached the abandoned dwelling, he heard the sound of a scream and the sound of a shotgun going off. He raced inside the house with his wife close at his heels. Inside the living room was another "Hunter" holding a "sawed off" shotgun that looked to be a genuine antique rather than one of a more recent manufacture like those belonging to him and his wife. He was guarding two children who had apparently wandered into the house on a "dare". The "Hunter" whirled to face him.

"Stonn? T'Pring?" the "Hunter" asked, with only a raised eyebrow betraying his surprise.

"Spock!" T'Pring exclaimed.

"I have located the likely burial site. Would you two deal with the body while I locate the third child?" Spock asked, immediately "getting down to business" - as the humans would say - as he handed over a data pad and responsibility for the two children he was currently protecting.

As T'Pring ushered the two children out of the house, Stonn found himself turning to look at Spock. There were several things he wanted to ask him, but the first question that came out was "How did you...?". He wasn't usually at a loss for words, but this situation was somewhat surreal in a way he didn't quite know how to deal with. While finding "his wife's ex" - as the humans would put it - here was bizarre enough, the question that ran through his mind was "How did a scientist from a family of scientists who wouldn't believe in the things he dealt with every day even if they saw them with their own two eyes and wouldn't know what to do with a sand spirit if it "came up and bit him in the butt" - as the humans put it - become a "Hunter"?

Spock apparently understood what he was asking.

"I learned over several summers spent with my maternal grandmother Samantha Winchester Grayson." Spock replied.

Stonn would have paused to consider the revelation that Spock too followed a family calling, but he had work to do and he would have to hurry to salt and burn the bones before harm befell the third child in the house. He had little doubt that Spock would be able to take care of himself, as he was trained by a member of a family that had been in the field for centuries.


	2. A Not So Righteous Man

Alfred had been young and fresh out of the Academy when the old man had shown up at the station. The old man who was obviously not long for this world had raced in desperately seeking something. The old man had been looking for him. Before the old man could say anything, he approached him.

_I am here._ he said.

The old man looked down at him and smirked.

"Hard to believe that such a small-fry is a descendant of Sam Winchester." The old man said. There was an image of a very tall man with haunted eyes standing in front of a black automobile next to his shorter and stubbornly defiant older brother.

The old man gave him a journal and decades of experience, then he died.

That had been the beginning. Here is the middle:

He had been on his way to the ship that would take him away from the station and back to Earth when he had found the demon. He hated demons. They were tricky as hell, especially when you didn't have your kit with you due to a lack of certain resources. Fortunately, for a P-12 a mental devil's trap was as good as a physical one. He drew the trap around the demon, and as soon as it was immobilized, he whispered an ancient prayer. The demon struggled to break free, but it wasn't nearly as strong as the strongest he had dealt with. It's venomous words about his parents and his mentor were just that, words.

Security Chief Michael Garibaldi - who had been following him to ensure he left - obviously knew what was going on, because he wasn't freaked out when the demon had departed. It would seem that one of his more recent ancestors was a...Campbell. Instead of fear, there was questioning. Questioning about him personally. A question of Why?

He decided to answer Garibaldi's unasked question.

"They say that the longer one gazes into the abyss, the longer the abyss gazes back into you, and I have been carefully scrutinized by the abyss for far too long Mr. Garibaldi. I know exactly where I am going to go when I die, and there won't be any angels rescuing me." he said as he turned to leave for his ship back to Earth.

The Corps was Mother and Father. All those in the Corps were his brothers and sisters. It was his job to protect his siblings from the things that lived in the dark, even if it cost him his own soul.

That was the middle. There were two endings. Here is a new beginning:

As Michael Garibaldi lay on the rack, he began to wonder if dealing to save his daughter had been worth it. Being torn apart by hellhounds had been excruciating, and this felt - if possible - much worse. Soon he realized that he was not alone. He turned to stare defiantly at his would-be tormentor. It was...

No! Nonononono!

_Hello Mr. Garibaldi. I had a feeling I would be seeing you again._


	3. A Calling, and Life

Shindo Hikaru sighed as he carefully concealed one of the main tools of his trade, a tool that would get him into trouble if he were caught carrying it, especially here in Japan. While playing Go was his main career, he had a side hobby or calling rather that he had picked up in America, along with the methods and tools that were necessary for survival while pursuing said calling, especially with international travel creating an influx of non-native species while things native to Japan went elsewhere in the guise of humans.

It had been in America, after he'd met a rather interesting man who had been fond of Go, that he'd learned that he'd been exceedingly lucky that Sai had been as benevolent as he was. Most other people who had been haunted weren't nearly as lucky as he had been. He'd figured that one out when he'd run into his first "Woman in White".

Today, he was hunting down a particularly violent spirit who was known to have killed at least three people already. That was why he had the shotgun loaded with rock salt cartridges which he was doing his best to hide.

Should he be stopped by the police and found carrying said weapon, there would be any number of awkward questions. Questions that he couldn't give a sane sounding answer to, since there wasn't one. Questions that could hurt or possibly even destroy his career as a professional Go player, ruining his chances of defeating Akira someday.

He didn't know how to live without Go, and his rivalry with Toya Akira. Hunting was a calling, Go was life.


	4. Messy Business

Aziraphale sighed. He'd never liked this part of the job. Even with his angelic powers, things tended to get messy. It had been more Crowley's cup of tea, and he was usually happy to leave him to it but, today, he had been forced to deal with things himself.

He'd gone to give a bit of Divine Extacy to someone who had been rapidly losing their faith, and found that the reason said person had been losing their faith had been the creature that had been stalking him.

He normally left werewolves alone, so long as they made a genuine effort to control themselves. This one hadn't unfortunately, and had been knowingly turning herself loose during the full moon. As such, he had been forced to deal with the situation.

Permanently.

He said a quiet prayer for the poor woman's soul despite the fact that he knew exactly where she was going. Whether or not Purgatory was better or worse than Hell was up for debate.


	5. Wendigos and Mustard Gas

Xavier St. Cloud had been many things during his long lifetime, and many of them bad. Most of them bad actually.

Aside from being a thief and a murderer, Xavier had been a Hunter as well. Not the kind of Hunter that MacLeod would recognize, the kind of Hunter that wore a Watcher tattoo however. Xavier was a hunter of supernatural creatures that most of the world denied existed, despite the fact that they had fully believed in them a few generations before.

Most Immortals, when they encountered the supernatural, would shrug it off and deny it despite the fact that they too were evidence of the fact that there was more to this Earth than could be dreamed of in the minds of men. It was funny really when you stopped to think about it. Xavier however hadn't. He had looked the unexplained in the face, and decided that he hadn't liked what he saw. Probably because it had interfered in his life, and attempted to have him as a snack.

He tended to take those kinds of things personally.

The gas that he tended to use in his robberies had come in handy during a number of other situations, situations that would have had his watchers laughed out of the organization if there hadn't been hundreds of other similar stories written up in the Archives over the millennia.

It had been him who had discovered that there was a way to kill a Wendigo other than burning it, a way that other Hunters had regarded as exceedingly reckless and insane, and only to be used as a last resort.

Chlorine and Mustard gas tended to be a double-edged sword after all, especially in the hands of mortals.


	6. Working From a Different Set of Rules

Gold eyes watched dispassionately as the human in the circle twitched and writhed, screaming obscenities and making promises that it wouldn't keep, and promises it would. None of that stopped the exorcism however. Those who'd angered him in the past had learned the hard way that it would be the last mistake they would ever make. Even if he failed to kill them right then, they were dead, they just didn't know it.

The demons who'd been something of a problem long before the coming of the Black Ships had angered him a few centuries before when they had come to the home of a girl turned young woman and used her to slaughter her six human pups before turning her on his brother's family where he'd been forced to kill her before the creature that wore her skin could kill his brother's mostly human whelps.

Eventually, the Latin rite that he'd taken great pains to pronounce correctly was finished and the demon exorcised. The human in the Devil's trap panted heavily as he got to his knees. The man looked up at him imploringly, begging in the only way he could since he was unable to speak at the moment.

He had no mercy for a child murderer who'd dared befoul his territory however. In fact, he had little if any concern for anyone these days.

As soon as the man caught his breath and he determined that it looked like he might survive long enough for what was coming next, he started chanting something else in Latin, something that most definitely wasn't an exorcism.

"You're even worse a monster than they are!" the human in the circle rasped an instant before he was possessed once more.

Grabbing the salt that didn't affect him in the slightest in one of his clawed hands, he made his way into the circle where the whimpering demon waited. Perhaps he was an even bigger monster than the creature he was breaking, but then again human morality meant nothing to him, having never been human in the first place.

Despite the fact that the term "Youkai" translated to "Demon" in English, Sesshoumaru who had once been Lord of the Western Lands of Japan wasn't one of those black-eyed monstrosities, and he had absolutely nothing in common with the parasites whom he would wipe from the Earth even if it took him a million years.


End file.
